I woke early this morning and spent time looking out the window while the house slept. I watched the sun rise, the wind blow leaves from trees and bend branches, and the squirrels wake to begin their spirited work of gathering acorns. This reminded me of a favorite by D. H. Lawrence.
At the WindowThe round-up today is over at Susan Writes. Before heading over, be sure to check out the poems of apology written as part of this week's poetry stretch. Happy poetry Friday, all!The pine trees bend to listen to the autumn wind as it mutters
Something which sets the black poplars ashake with hysterical laughter;
While slowly the house of day is closing its eastern shutters.
Further down the valley the clustered tombstones recede,
Winding about their dimness the mist's grey cerements, after
The street lamps in the darkness have suddenly started to bleed.
The leaves fly over the window and utter a word as they pass
To the face that leans from the darkness, intent, with two dark-filled eyes
That watch for ever earnestly from behind the window glass.
(Please forgive the formatting. Lawrence intended there to be only three lines per stanza. Blogger seems to have its own ideas today.)